I greive
by anche
Summary: A short scene which might have gone into Order of the Phenoix, written months ago.


Italicized parts come from OOP page 862.

_Song - Peter Gabriel - I grieve_

i grieve for you  
you leave me  
'so hard to move on  
still loving what's gone  
they say life carries on  
carries on and on and on and on

the news that truly shocks is the empty empty page  
while the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage  
and i can't handle this

_"I am sorry not to have been more help," said Nick gently. "Well...well, do excuse me... the feast, you know..."_

_And he left the room, leaving Harry there alone, gazing blankly at the wall through which Nick had disappeared. _

_Harry felt almost as though he had lost his godfather all over again in losing his hope that he might be able to see or speak to him once more. He walked slowly and miserable back up though the empty castle wondering whether he would ever feel cheerful again._

_-------_

"There you are I have been looking for you everywhere. You ran off so quickly and then I just couldn't find you. Are you going to the feast; everyone will be looking for you there? I mean, I understand if you don't want to go. I was debating going myself. I wanted to catch you alone before the goodbyes on the train though. Do you have a minuet? Can we talk?" Nervously babbling, she gently laid a hand on his arm.

"Don't touch me!" He growled, jerking his arm away so fast Hermione wondered that it wasn't dislocated.

"Oh Harry, you need to talk to someone, anyone. It doesn't have to be me. But you are so closed off and it can't be good for you. You are so angry; you walk around with your hand clenched and you snarl at anyone who says 'Good morning' to you. Your anger is like a spiky ball in the pit of your stomach. How long before it tears you to shreds?" She reached out and grabbed a hold of his hand, ignoring his violent shake. Gently opening his fist, she ran her finger over the dark impressions where his fingernails had bitten into the palm of his hand. Harry resolutely refused to meet her gaze. "We are all so worried about you. Please."

Even as she spoke, Harry could feel himself drawing away and the more and more familiar anger flooding in. What did she know, what right did she have to talk to him about this? What the hell did she know of it anyway? It is not like he hadn't talked, he talked to Dumbledore and what good did that do him? The truth, yes he'd finally been told the truth but a truth that he did not want and with it came nothing but a terrible heavy feeling of inevitability. He was trapped... trapped. And so what if he was angry. He liked his anger. Stronger than steel and white hot, it was a form of strength and he intended to use it.

After what seemed like forever to Hermione, Harry raised his eyes to her. They were dark and closed eyes. Hermione shivered.

"What do you know about it, what do any of you know about it" he spat into her pleading face, while reclaiming his hand. "He is dead. He is dead just like Cedric, just like my parents, and just like who ever will be next. It could be you. We all are going to die; you see those kids out there on the Quidditch field," he pointed to a group of first years playing a game of air tag and laughing with out a care in the world, "they are all going to die one day, maybe tomorrow. And who cares, that is just how the world works. Maybe we all should. Maybe that would be better, a tragic accident and it would all be over, all the fighting, all the waiting, all the prophecies. At least..." Harry's voice, which had been a shout, dropped to a barely audible whisper; "at least we would be together again."

Slumping miserably against the cold stone of the wall, Hermione shut her eyes wishing he would stop. His voice, insistent and dejected was constricting her heart until she though she would die from the pain. Yet still the voice continued. "What does it matter? He's dead. Sirius is dead. But that is not so bad, I mean people die everyday. It is not that he is dead... it's that he isn't going to be around anymore. He wont be stomping through the house going stir crazy, he wont send me letters reminding me to behave but winking and telling me to have fun while I am at it... he's just not going to be around anymore!"

With that last whisper, Harry turned and practically ran away from the weeping figure. Where he was going he was not sure, away, somewhere to be alone. A hot shower or maybe just to curl up in the deserted common room one last time before he had to face the Dursleys. In reality where he was going didn't matter. He needed a place to cry one last time; a place where no one would know, no one would find him. But now that he had started running he didn't know if he would make it before the tears fell. He hated himself for that. He hated the tears.

"It takes time, Harry." How many times had he heard that in the last few days? So many people, Professor Mogongal, Mrs. Weasley, Arabella Fig, and even Lupin, all telling him to be strong and take it one day at a time. Kind but useless platitudes. Why couldn't they see what he now saw; he didn't have the time to heal. He didn't even have the time to grieve. He would will himself to be fine. He would be returning to the Dursley's tomorrow and then what. How long until Voldemort took his next victim, he next friend gone?

Frustrated he pounded his fist into the wall, startling the portrait of a kind looking round wizard, and let the tears fall. The portrait muttering about a lunch date left him to himself. Even as the tears silently streamed down his face he found no healing in them. Just an aching bitterness. Why couldn't he just wave his wand, say a spell, or drink a potion and heal all of this? Why?

Eventually the tears passed but he was still shaking as though cold. Yet the anger had gone with the tears, gone at lest for now, and he was empty and numb. Gradually, Harry picked himself up and headed much slower towards the Gryffindor common room.

_-----_

_He had turned the corner towards the Fat Lady's corridor when he saw somebody up ahead fastening a note to a board on the wall. A second glance showed him that it was Luna. There were no good hiding places nearby, she was bound to have heard his footsteps, and in any case, Harry could hardly muster the energy to avoid anyone at the moment._

"_Hello," said Luna vaguely, glancing around at him as she stepped back from the notice. _

i grieve for you  
you leave me  
let it out and move on  
missing what's gone  
they say life carries on  
they say life carries on and on and on


End file.
